


leave me breathless (and drowning for you)

by everybreatheverymove



Series: two hundred words (or a thousand more) [4]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Just a little thing I wrote... far from my best work, One Shot, Really just something to post but there's plenty of stuff (better things!) in the works, Romance, Set pre-ST3, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-22 03:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybreatheverymove/pseuds/everybreatheverymove
Summary: "What does love mean to you?"It’s a loaded question; one Mike Wheeler isn’t quite sure he knows how to answer. But then he meetsher, and everything makes sense. Love is like drowning.
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler
Series: two hundred words (or a thousand more) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1516094
Comments: 5
Kudos: 70





	leave me breathless (and drowning for you)

_"_ _What does love mean to you?"_

**When he’s eight years old** and his teacher asks him that question, Mike Wheeler’s response is to shrug and say, “I don’t know. I’m only eight.”

At that age, how many kids are capable of coming up with a long, full answer that’ll tick all the boxes and dot all the i’s that a second-grade teacher wants you to dot? Probably not very many. Because, really, no eight-year-old has even the smallest idea what love is, or what it should be.

But if poked and prodded and forced to reply, Mike would probably have said something like, “It’s when dad buys mommy roses for Valentine’s Day even though she told him not to. And she pretends to like them even though lilies are her favorite. Everyone knows that. ”

* * *

**When he’s eleven years old** and his mom asks him that same question, though worded slightly differently — as she’s cutting off a thick slice of roast beef and plating it up atop a mass on peas — Mike can all but stare at her, arm outstretched as he waits for his dinner to be handed back to him.

The cut of beef is way too thick for his liking, and the peas aren’t as hard as usual; his mom has had a rough day though, so he won’t say anything.

Instead, Mike takes the seat opposite where his dad should be, where he always sits — for the second time this week, he’s working late and isn’t home on time for dinner — and he takes one sip of water before answering, stating simply, “I don’t know. Isn’t it like, you just fall in love with someone and get married and... like, have kids and stuff?”

“Well,” his mom begins, picking up the plastic fork in front of Mike’s two-year-old sister Holly. She starts stabbing away at the small slices of meat then, “That’s part of it, usually.”

His lips curl up into a smile despite himself, like young boys do when they’re proud of themselves, and he shuffles a couple of peas around his plate just as his mom brings some food up to Holly’s mouth. “So I’m right?” He quirks a brow in curiosity, raising the forkful of peas up to his own lips.

“You’re not wrong.” Karen Wheeler sighs, resigning herself for a moment. And then she's reaching for an empty wine glass with her free hand, and pushing the other up against the back of the white highchair. “Well, at least you’re a lot closer to being right than your father is.”

Mike doesn’t know what she means by that. And he doesn’t think to ask.

* * *

**When he’s twelve years old** and Nancy asks him if he thinks any girls are cute — just to tease him because it’s Valentine’s Day and the middle school is partaking in the age-old tradition of handing out roses to those fortunate enough to have anybody interested in them — he kicks her in the shin.

“Mike!”

“She was bullying me!”

“That wasn’t bullying, Mike.” Nancy rolls her eyes, pushing up the sleeves of her blouse before picking up the maple syrup. “I was just wondering. Chill.”

“Wondering what?”

Nancy licks the tip of her index finger, wiping away traces of syrup with a smile, “If Mike sent out any roses this year.”

“Of course I didn’t.”

“You might have done.” Nancy shrugs, and she shoots their mom a look then, “I always did.”

“That’s because you're a busybody.” Mike retorts, snatching the bottle from her hand. He flicks open the lid, “Why would I send flowers to someone if I don’t like them?”

A voice from the end of the table cuts in then, and four sets of eyes — Holly’s included — fall on Ted Wheeler. He’s got the morning newspaper held up in front of his face, and it doesn’t look like he plans on lowering it any day soon. “You don’t have to send flowers if you don’t want to, Michael. There are cards-”

“Is there anybody, Michael?”

“No!”

Nancy stifles a laugh, “You’re being awfully defensive for someone who has no interest in anyone.”

“Can we drop it? Jesus.”

“Language!”

“I’m just saying!” Mike smacks a hand down on the table; not the one holding a forkful of Eggo waffle. “I don’t wanna send some girl roses just because it’s Valentine’s Day.” He pulls a face as he says it, shooting his older sister a disgusted look. “I don’t want to write a card. I’m not, like, in love with anybody so why would I?”

Ted clears his throat then, piping up, “You don’t have to be in love with the girl, Michael. She just has to be pretty enough-”

“Ted!”

Karen reaches across the table then, seemingly vying for her son’s hand. He moves back in his seat. “You can do it just to be nice to someone.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Well, maybe you should just so mom will stop asking you about it.”

“Maybe you should shut up!”

“Michael!”

Mike scowls at his sister, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, baby brother.”

* * *

**When he’s thirteen years old** and some kid makes a passing comment about the Snowball — with mentions of kissing and small corsages and dates — Mike walks out of the school cafeteria with his head hung low.

Lucas chases after him and, from over his shoulder, Mike can hear Dustin calling out his name.

“Dude,” there’s a hand clapped on his shoulder then, but it’s gone almost as soon as Mike has whipped around, back sliding down the wall of lockers. He kicks his legs out in front of him, arms falling into his lap and thumbs plucking at a loose thread on his sweater.

“I’m fine, Lucas,” Mike tells him, pointedly, “seriously. You don’t have to worry.”

A beat, and then, “I’m not worried.” His friend admits with a grin, joining him on the floor now. Lucas pulls his legs up to his chest, hands resting on denim-clad knees, “I just thought you might need some company.” He tells him, reassuring and calm, “You know, and I’m the best person for it.”

“How are you the best person for that?” He doesn’t say anything, but he thought crosses his mind: You didn’t even like her, not at first. How are you going to understand? How is anyone?

“Because Dustin is too… you know.” He nudges Mike’s shoulder, and the two boys share a knowing smile. “And Will’s still going through stuff of his own so he’d probably just bring you down. And it wouldn’t be his fault, but-”

“I get it, Lucas.” Mike cuts him off, a hand flying out to tap the other boy’s arm. “And thanks. I’m just… I don’t know, just kind of a downer myself lately.”

“Yeah but, I mean, it’s cool. I know you don’t wanna talk about it. But you can, you know?” He dips his head, tries to meet Mike’s eye despite the lankier teen’s clear refusal to make eye contact. “About her. If you wanted to.”

“I want to, I just- I’m not sure how.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you… do you ever feel like you’re suffocating? Or like- More like you’re underwater and- and you know how to swim... but no matter what you do you can’t come back up to the surface? Like, the water keeps dragging you down or whatever? And sometimes I’m not even sure I’m trying to resurface. It’s like I’m swimming towards the bottom of the ocean because I want to even though I know there’s nothing there for me. That I can see at least. And I know I shouldn’t.” Mike rubs two fingers along the column of his throat then, leaning his head back against the lockers with a soft thump. “Sometimes I feel like that.”

“Like you’re drowning?” Lucas repeats, for clarification.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, OK.” The other boy clicks his tongue, and he smacks his hand together as though he’s thinking of something. “Maybe…”

Mike sends him a look, brows furrowing, “what?”

“Mike,” he starts, “what’s at the bottom of the ocean?” Lucas asks him, “because there’s got to be something drawing you down there. And maybe, it’s, you know, not necessarily a bad thing.”

“You think it’s good?”

“I don’t know. But you’ve been through a lot - we’ve been through a lot - so I can see why maybe you’d be having weird dreams or feelings or-”

“It’s a feeling. It’s not-” Mike pauses, and he takes a second to clear his throat and shift his gaze, “It’s not a dream. I just feel it. Like, in me. When I-”

“When you think about Eleven?” Lucas mumbles something under his breath then, shaking his head from side to side, “El. I mean El.”

“Yeah,” is all Mike replies.

“Then it’s probably a good thing.”

* * *

**When he’s fourteen years old** , he’s pretty sure he knows what love is.

Or, rather, he’s identified a feeling and marked it down as ‘could be love, could be a heart attack.’ He likes to think it’s the former, though. If it is then maybe he can finally get it out, finally say it and the feeling will lessen; not disappear — just slow down long enough for Mike to catch his breath.

“Mike?”

His attention snaps back down to the girl in front of him then. She’s stood in the doorway to the cabin, oversized shirt thrown over her outfit — pajama bottoms and a ringer t-shirt. Her hair’s kind of messy, loose curls framing her face. There’s a stray brown hair hanging dangerously close to her mouth and, before he can even think, Mike reaches forward to brush it away.

El smiles, “Better?”

“Sorry, it was- It was out of place.”

“Are you coming in?”

It’s early, he thinks. Earlier than usual. He knows Hopper hasn’t left for work yet because the Cruiser is still parked out front, and there’s movement coming from the kitchen behind El, pots and pans banging together as though someone is preparing breakfast. 

“Is Hopper around?”

“Yes,” El answers, but her brows dip as though she’s confused as to why he’s asking for the chief’s whereabouts when she’s right there. “Why?”

“Just, erm… Can you come outside? Instead of me coming in?” Mike asks her, and he drops his backpack down onto the porch outside, the back straps leaning against his leg.

El seems to consider it for a second; nose scrunched up, bottom lip pulled between her teeth, and she shifts her gaze back and forth from Mike and the man in the kitchen. Eventually, she steps forward, keeping one hand on the doorknob.

“I’ll be quick.” Mike tells her, holding a finger up, signaling for her to wait a second. Then he ducks down and starts rummaging through his backpack in clear search of something, “you know because I have school in like,” he pauses to check his watch, “twenty minutes. And I can’t be late today, but I wanted to stop by-”

Mike cuts himself off then, standing up straight and pressing his hands to his chest so she can’t see what he’s holding. It’s flat and rectangular, hard beneath the envelope.

El’s eyes narrow as she stares at the card, a single brow rising in question, “what is it?”

“It’s Valentine's day, right? You know that.” Mike confirms, and El nods with a sheepish smile. “And you… you know what people do on Valentine's day?”

Before he can blink, she’s pushing herself up on her tiptoes and resting her hands against his shoulders, trying to reach him, “They kiss,” she tells him, lips pursing in anticipation.

“Yes!” Mike squeaks, face flushing. “Yeah. But, erm, wait a second.” He pries her hands from his shoulders, dropping them to his waist so he can carefully hold up the enveloped card between them both. She’s stood so close though, and- “So basically, it’s this cheesy holiday where people give each other gifts and stuff, but you already know that.”

“For people they like.”

“Exactly. People they like, or you know, people they… well, like, I guess.” He lowers his gaze to the item in his hands then, licking his lips in thought. This is going nowhere. “Okay, you know what, just open it.”

He extends the card out to her, and El gently plucks it from his hand with a bemused expression. She keeps her lips pursed, and Mike watches with a grin as she scrapes sock-clad feet back and forth over the decking, reading over the name written across the front with a beaming smile.

She tears into the envelope — having practiced with Hopper’s work documents over time — and discards the paper on the ground behind her. The girl flicks the card over in one hand, admiring the front and back equally. It’s pink with red polka-dots splashed across the front, and there’s a large speech bubble with ‘THIS CARD DOES MORE THAN WISH YOU A HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY…’ written in big block letters,

El runs her fingers over the front, gaze rising to meet Mike’s, “I like it.”

“No, no,” Mike’s smile falters, and he slips a finger in between the front and back, “open it.”

She does just that and then jumps back when a loud noise fills the early morning silence of the woods. There’s a loud cackle at first, followed by a catchy but soft piece of music El doesn’t recognize. Mike grins when she moves back, a hand flying out to grab her shoulder and steady her, and El flutters her lashes up at him with a nervous smile. It soon turns into a giggle as the music continues.

She picks up on the words ‘baby’ and ‘love’ and that’s about it. But even if she doesn’t quite understand why Mike would give her something like this — maybe it’s just what normal people do — she’s still going to treasure it because _he_ gave it to her. And the card is cute, anyway. And the music was fun. And-

“El?” She hums in response, eyes landing on the handwritten message inside the open card now. “Did you read it?”

“I’m… reading it.”

“Oh,” Mike blushes, and he goes to lift his hand from her shoulder; until he can’t. Realizing she’s keeping him in place for whatever reason, Mike starts to explain his little note away because maybe, just maybe, he read things wrong and has just made a fool of himself, “Listen, you don’t have to-”

“You want me to be your girlfriend?”

_Dear El,_

_Happy Valentine’s day!_

_I know I should have asked this a long time ago_

_but there’s no time like the present so…_

_Will you be my girlfriend, and my Valentine?_

_Love, Mike_

His throat is so tight right now, so goddamn raw. But somehow he manages to get out, “I want you to be if you want to be, obviously.”

“I want to.”

“Okay.” Mike breathes out, and his eyes drop the paper on the wooden porch as a boyish grin works its way onto his face, “Cool.”

“Yeah, cool.” El agrees, adding, “Were we not already boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“No, no, we were!” Mike clarifies, and he looks into her eyes then, peering down to take in their hazel color shining in the morning sun, “just, not officially.” He nods, explains himself, “I don’t know, Dustin said I should ask you properly and I- I wanted to get you a card and flowers anyway but-”

“Flowers?”

“Yeah!” Mike gulps, “I kind of wanted to give them to you later when I gave you the card and asked you out for real but… I guess I just really wanted to see you this morning. I mean, I wrote like three cards because I really wanted to get it right and even now, I’m still not sure I did. But you know, it’s Valentine’s and it’s a romantic holiday or whatever and you’re supposed to spend it with the people you lo-”

“El!” Hopper’s voice rings out, “wrap it up.”

“Coming!” El whips her head around to shout back through the mesh paneling. Then she turns to Mike with a smirk, “I want to spend it with you, too. Valentine’s.”

“Great, so I’ll- I’ll see you later?” He can feel a cough coming along — the kind to clear up awkward silences or mask nervous, giddy laughter. It's definitely the latter.

She nods, then quirks a brow, “Can I have them?” El asks, taking a step closer so there’s no space left between them. “The other cards?”

“I mean… sure?” Mike snorts, “They’re really bad though. Like, really cheesy.”

“Maybe I like cheesy cards.”

“While we’re talking about things you like… flowers? Do you have a favorite?”

“I thought you already had them? Any flower is fine, Mike.”

“I do, I just wanna know if I got them right.”

“Okay… erm, lilies.”

(Perfect.)

“Cool.” He leans down to cup her face then, cheek squished against the palm of his hand as he presses a quick, gentle kiss to her lips. It doesn’t last longer than two seconds but El’s eyes drift to a close all the same, and by the time they’ve pulled away, Mike is resting his forehead against hers, eyes drawn to her mouth. “I’ve gotta go.”

“I know,” El says, and she pushes against his chest with her free hand, fist balled against his collarbone. “ Go .”

He does. And just as he’s pulling his bike up from off of the ground, that stupid Hallmark card sets off again, followed by El’s laughter.


End file.
